


This Is How An Angel Dies

by Asgardian_Pirate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Explicit Language, F/M, Gore, M/M, Nostalgia, Violence, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asgardian_Pirate/pseuds/Asgardian_Pirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The End should have been simple. But all Castiel knew was that the explanations for it were not. War. Nuclear testing. Immigration. The wrath of God. Aliens. Tainted meat. The loss of real rock and roll. After all their planning, all their preparation, the human race couldn’t create a counterstrike against the New Plague.</p><p>And so, here he was, fighting because he could not die. Faith lost in the perpetual downward spiral of the death surrounding him. His Father had no answers. Humanity had no answers. No cause, no hope. Fallen, and yet standing, his wings spread, present and in battle, because there had to be an end. Nothing was eternal on Earth, as it was in Heaven and Hell. The only aspiration for the human race, it seemed, was finalization. There was no more future to look forward to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, in May of 2012, I began a Supernatural zombie apocalypse AU, and then I worked on other fics and never touched it again.  
> However, I brought it back to life. Ha. Get it?

“Cas, you realize that the horde is literally breaking down the door?”  
  
Of course he did. Winchester always had the annoyingly common urge to state the obvious. And when in the hell did he start calling him _Cas_?  
  
“Just in case you are so painstakingly idiotic, yes, Winchester, I am aware,” Castiel huffed, loading his shotgun with quick, nimble fingers. Dean merely stared him down.  
  
“It seems to me that you’re the idiotic one, if you think you’re going out there alone,” he rebutted. Castiel looked into Winchester’s emerald green eyes, flecks of gold and blue shimmering among their depths. Intense. Sturdy. Focused. And, well, sincere. He sighed.  
  
Sincerity did not have its place in this world. Not anymore. Through the sweat, blood, and bile, the only aspirations were to avoid faces with crazed eyes and bits of flesh caught in their teeth, constantly clawing and snapping at diminishing strength. Death was King, and survival was just an elongated escape route until you reached the end-game. Nobody won. Emotions were weaknesses. And yet...  
  
“Your gun’s not going to load itself, jackass,” Castiel finally said, sliding his black duffle bag across the dust and blood-encrusted floor, ash swirling above their heads in a haunting dance. Dirt, charred wood, skin; it didn’t matter what it was made of. With every inhale, it coated his lungs; another one on the long list of ironies in the New World. That which gives life is created from death.  
  
Dean Winchester quickly loaded and holstered his two magnums, the weapons jutting from his hips. He unsheathed a stained, worn katana from its scabbard on his back, staring intensely still at Castiel as he picked his duffle bag up from the floor. Castiel’s eyes travelled over the expanse of Winchester’s form, noting the drying blood on his lower right calf.  
  
“Are you certain you’re fit for fighting?” Castiel questioned, gesturing to the splintering wooden door of the abandoned apartment. The horde’s animalistic moans and growls increased with every sign of the door giving way as they tried to bash and crawl inside. The door protested as it groaned with the force of the horde’s determination.  
  
Winchester stepped up to Castiel’s side, their arms brushing against each other. Castiel could feel the heat, anticipation, and adrenaline roll off of the man in waves as they stared at the door expectantly, the contact releasing a sudden surge of confidence within him. Winchester smirked, his fingers stretching in a roll along the handle of the sword. The door began to creak and crack, allowing the first glimpses of rotting flesh.     
  
“Cas, I was fucking born ready.”  
  


\---

  
No one ever anticipates their end. Sure, there’s preparation for the future, for what’s coming next, for _progress_. The thought of it all coming to a halt graces consciousness occasionally, but it was never dwelled upon because all eyes were focused on moving forward, instead of the importance of what was going on all around them.  
  
Yeah. One of those monologues on how they should have lived everyday like it was their last. Cliché. But people were always stupid. What they didn’t realize was that every second they were in the present, they were also in the past and future. Every second was fleeting, racing onwards towards the end-game, where all those aspirations of moving forward as fast as possible put them in their graves.  
  
Ironic, really. The scramble for being on top, for pushing towards continuous progress, was the untimely death sentence of the World as they knew it. Or, maybe it was all in good time. Maybe it was all planned. Who the hell knew?  
  
The End should have been simple. But all Castiel knew was that the explanations for it were not. War. Nuclear testing. Immigration. The wrath of God. Aliens. Tainted meat. The loss of real rock and roll. After all their planning, all their preparation, the human race couldn’t create a counterstrike against the New Plague. ** **  
****

Ah, the two main pieces in the game. On one hand, the New Plague. When it began bubbling to the surface, some people had taken to a twisted fantasy that they were suddenly in the Zombieland film, heading out with new weapons and no experience, and then eaten alive. The zombies within the movie actually held a likeness to the ones slowly oozing over the Earth, but Castiel found no solace in the fact. There was even one theory that the creators of the film had created the New Plague. He didn’t place his bets on the speculation. The virus was as one could expect; it basically turned humans into mad, flesh-craving animals that hunted on instinct, and usually in packs.When one of the creatures had him pinned into the asphalt, jaws snapping and fingers clawing with every intention to rip him into shreds, Castiel was briefly reminded of Leviathans. If these new creatures were as ruthless as they were, why was the antigen that caused the madness not locked away in Purgatory? Why was it afflicting humans to such a degree?

That brought attention to the other hand; the human race. Castiel once held them in high esteem, admiring their beauty and imperfections, their strange yet fascinating traditions and practices, which were diverse in accordance to various parts of the planet. They were his Father’s creations, and, for all that his knowledge could allow him, Castiel loved them. He assimilated into their populace occasionally over the span of thousands of years, enjoying the opportunity to mingle among them and just experience. Unfortunately, he was deemed as to enjoy the presence of mortals over the Heavenly Host, and so was banished to Earth to live out a sentence of unknown time. With wings that couldn’t fly, he was left with only his strength and the power to heal his own body.

That’s when everything changed. As Castiel delved deeper into the workings of the human race, desiring to learn as much as he could, he discovered...darkness. Greed. Cheating. Prejudice. Consuming obsessions. Hate. A lack of conscience. Castiel began to drown, and he hadn’t come up for air since. He fell into the overwhelming pressure, no longer seeing the beauty within humans as he once did, but rather a slow simmer of hate. He became what he had come to resent; human. At least, to an extent. The only reminder that he was still connected to Heaven were his ethereal wings, and the inability to die. Without the sting of an angel’s blade, he would not see his end. However, angels had not visited the Earth in decades, and would certainly not come now. He continually wondered why he had in the first place, the reason lost within his muted mind, thick and slow with the smog of the flaws of humanity.

And so, here he was, fighting because he could not die. Faith lost in the perpetual downward spiral of the death surrounding him. His Father had no answers. Humanity had no answers. No cause, no hope. Fallen, and yet standing, his wings spread, present and in battle, because there had to be an end. Nothing was eternal on Earth, as it was in Heaven and Hell. The only aspiration for the human race, it seemed, was finalization. There was no more future to look forward to.

\---

Castiel had been attempting to make use of his wings, cursing as they unfurled and beat but did not lift him from the crumbling pavement, when the sharp slap of a gunshot rang through the smoky, hushed air.  Castiel’s eyes narrowed, scanning his environment for movement. He had travelled around the city of Dallas and saw no evidence of human life except for the occasional unlucky bastard who laid on the ground, half-eaten and moaning. They were either going to die or turn, and so Castiel ended their misery, using an arrow as a spear, penetrating their skulls up through their eye sockets. He ignored the keen buzz of vengeance with each final blow he delivered unto them.

Zombies, or as Castiel called them, the Undead, did not hold the knowledge to wield weapons other than random debris, nevertheless artillery. He had a brief, wallowing moment in which he longed for his lost powers, so that he could easily sense humans, but it was gone within seconds. He sighed, tucking his ethereal wings close to his body before setting off towards the origin of the shot. There was no doubt that if he had heard it, several of the Undead did as well; possibly even a horde, the thought of which made Castiel grimace. That would be most unpleasant for him, and most unfortunate for the human who had used the firearm.    

Although he had placed a certain blame on humanity, Castiel could not simply walk by when they needed help. There were still souls within those tired, neglected bodies, of which most would someday be shepherded into Heaven. That is, of course, if his Father still cared for their fate. By the Earth and its populace’s deteriorating state, Castiel wasn’t as sure as he had once been. Was his Father even still there, or had He fled into the far expanses of the universe that He created, hidden within clusters of stars?

Castiel shook his head, stalking through an abandoned school yard, the light of dawn peaking over the tops of the buildings. There wasn’t enough time to think about that, he told himself. He glanced at the decaying playground in the middle of the grass, where children once played aimlessly, their hopes and dreams pure and genuine. There was never enough time.

A shimmer of light immediately grabbed Castiel’s attention. He caught swift movements within an alcove of trees across the field, glimpses of denim, leather, and a sword of some kind. He quickened his pace to a near trot, his wings quivering in anticipation as he neared his target; whether it was a member of the Undead or a human, he couldn’t quite tell. Once before, he had mistaken the Undead with humans because he thought one was wielding a weapon, when it actually just had a crowbar jutting out of the side of its skull, blood leaking down its decomposing face. Since that incident, Castiel became alert to anything that moved, although he had nothing to fear. His brethren were the exceptions, but he would be able to sense their coming; at least, that is what he hoped.

The angel slowed, his trenchcoat swaying over the sprawling, infected corpses littered across the dying grass, several of them adorned with slashed throats or missing limbs and heads. This was the work of a man, not one of the Undead. Still, Castiel hesitated as he approached the line of trees, wondering if the virus was slowly claiming this man or if he had made it out of the battle unscathed. He glanced back around the field; with the number of bodies, the latter seemed unlikely.

He managed to duck as the sword hissed above his head, avoiding decapitation. _That_ would have ended in a dreadful headache.  Castiel swiftly kicked the man’s legs out from under him, the human landing with an audible huff of air as the impact forced it from his lungs. The man scrambled to get to his feet, his body visibly tensed for another attempt at an attack.

“I am not here to harm you,” Castiel stated firmly. The man’s green eyes widened slightly, the grip on his sword faltering.

“You can talk?” The man questioned the obvious. Castiel refrained from rolling his eyes.

“Obviously. I speak many languages, in fact,” he replied, observing the man’s body relaxing fractionally.

“Well, I thought you were a zombie. No need to be a smart-ass.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow as he continued to stare at the man; his dark blonde hair, green, expressive eyes, the light dusting of freckles across his cheeks, and his tanned, muscular frame. Even though the man seemed to be one of the more beautiful of his Father’s creations, a thread of wariness nestled itself in Castiel’s gut. As far as first impressions went, the man’s skills were impressive, but Castiel didn’t trust him. He hadn’t trusted humans in years.

“What?” The man asked, raising his own eyebrow. Castiel swallowed, annoyance already building in the back of his mind. He fell into his human frontage easily.

“Nothing. Just...weighing you up. Can’t be too careful with all these fucking zombies around,” Castiel answered, parting his feet a few more inches into a more relaxed stance. The man nodded, lowering his sword.

“I’m with you there, man.” He paused, looking Castiel over, and wariness bubbled in the angel’s gut once more. The man extended his hand. “Dean Winchester.” Castiel’s brow furrowed as he stared at the offered hand. What was this human attempting?

“I don’t do names.”

The man scoffed, his own brow furrowing as he retracted his arm. “Dude, seriously? Allies are far and few nowadays. You’d think you’d climb off your high horse.”

“Allies?”

“Yeah, you know, like help in fighting all these walkers. Survival relies on numbers.”

“Then where are yours?”

The questioned apparently caught the man off-guard. He shifted his weight back and forth between his feet, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “I should ask you the same question.”

“I travel alone.”

The man laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “How are you still alive?”

“I used strategy, unlike you.”

“How do you know that I don’t-”

“You just walked across that field, didn’t you, Winchester?” He didn’t reply. “You basically baited yourself for those walkers. Are you that much of an idiot?” Before the man could answer, Castiel stepped closer. The man didn’t flinch. “Although, by the looks of things, you know how to hold your own. Where the hell did you even get that thing?” Castiel asked, eyes gesturing to the sword in his left hand.

A small smile played at Winchester’s lips. This time, his eyes brightened faintly. “Looting has its benefits.”

“Ah,” Castiel said in reply. Winchester looked at him a while longer before continuing.

“You asked about my group. They’re inside the city.” He bent over to pick up a frayed, forest green book bag from the ground. “We got separated. Luckily, we’ve got radios that still work, and they told me that they’re holding up in an old movie theatre downtown. I’m headed that way now.”

“Why are you out here, then? The highway into the city is in the other direction.” Castiel didn’t fail to catch his hesitation.

“Thought there’d be some goods to loot out this way. Turns out there was nothin’ but walkers.” Castiel presumed there was more to it, but let it drop.

“Clearly,” the angel smirked, glancing again to the field strewn with dead...well, Undead. Winchester huffed a laugh.

“So, you call me Winchester. That’s cool.” His eyes scanned over Castiel’s face before meeting his eyes. “What do I call you?”

Castiel wavered. He had never allowed interactions with humans to reach this level of familiarity in many years. To name something was to gain power over it, to use it, only leverage to climb ever higher on the ladder towards progress. Now, with the looming plague, it seemed increasingly impractical. Humans met their end with each passing day; names simply didn’t matter to strangers. There was no time to become personal in any form.

“Castiel,” he heard himself answer, the wariness burning hot in his stomach. Winchester’s eyebrows quirked up, the small smile returning.

“Dude, that is the weirdest fake name I’ve ever heard. Don’t try so hard.” Castiel frowned, his human facade slipping.

“It is my real name. It was gifted to me upon my beginning.” The angel winced internally before resuming his frontage. Dean only stared at him, a flicker of confusion and curiosity in his gaze.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Castiel, retaining his fake visage, rolled his eyes, secretly glancing at the sky above him. It was filled with stretching, gray clouds. Silent. A dull ache swarmed his chest. “You could say that.”

A quiet moment passed between them before Winchester cleared his throat. “So, Castiel...how about you drop the lone wolf act for a while and head into the city with me? Once I find my group, you can take some supplies from whatever we’ve managed to scrape up, and then you can be on your merry way. Deal?”

The appropriate response would have been ‘no’, seeing as the angel had no need for normal supplies such as rations. The only ammunition he carried were arrows for his bow, and even then, he could do without them on account of the fact that he had retained his strength since his banishment. However...he could not pass up the opportunity to help this human at least find his companions. His eventual end could come sooner rather than later, but he was alive now, present, fighting, as Castiel had been, and the angel could not deny him; nor could he deny that this human seemed...known to him. Heedfulness continued to seep through his stomach, spreading up into his lungs, hindering his every breath with constricting caution.

“Yeah. Deal.”

Winchester smiled, nodding his head to gesture to the road that led to the highway. He sauntered off through the grass as though the end of the humanity was a figment of the imagination, and the world was at peace. Such a calm exterior; did it reflect what laid underneath?

“Come on, Castiel. We don’t want anymore company. I’m sure plenty of walkers heard my magnum go off,” Winchester called behind him, breaking Castiel’s train of thought. “Which was justified, by the way. One of those sons-of-bitches deserved it.”

“Don’t they all?” Castiel smirked as he heard the man chuckle, following close behind him towards the worn, asphalt road.

“Damn straight.”

\---

“What’s with the bow and arrows, Robin Hood?”

“Excuse me?”

Winchester’s eyebrows rose as he lifted his palms into the air, masking a smile. “Hey, man, don’t be offended or anything. I’m just wondering about your...get-up.”

Castiel glanced down at his person; he was adorned with jeans, a navy blue t-shirt, and his beige trenchcoat, his old sneakers squelching with every step he took down the damp road. The strap of his quiver pressed securely against his chest, wrinkling the surrounding fabric. He looked to Winchester, the man’s eyes still analyzing his form. The human’s gaze left Castiel...unquieted.

“I mean, I get the trenchcoat. It can get cold or start storming. But-”

“What’s wrong with my clothes? You’re the one who looks like they jumped out of the eighties,” he returned the scrutiny. The man frowned, pointing his sword at Castiel.

“Don’t rag on the leather jacket. It’s vintage,” he seemed to coo, running his fingers affectionately across the brown material. “Besides, I’m not the guy who’s old-fashioned,” he retorted, pointing at the bow in Castiel’s relaxed fist.

“It is the essential stealth weapon,” he began. The angel lifted the bow to the level of his shoulders, examining it as he spoke. “Quick, light, easily maneuverable, quiet. Its ammunition can be efficiently used at long range or in close quarter combat , and is often reusable. Take him, for instance.” Castiel nodded towards a lone walker roughly thirty yards in front of them, meandering in front of a bookstore. He grabbed an arrow from his quiver and notched it into the bow, bringing his arm back as he aimed, his palm hovering near his cheek. He released the arrow, splitting the walker’s skull with a satisfying thunk. The zombie toppled to the sidewalk, the entire action taking place within three seconds.

Castiel looked to Winchester, the man’s jaw slightly agape as he stared at the angel. Castiel smirked at the clear expression of astonishment etched into his face. His mouth began to form words, but none came. He settled with pointing towards the fallen walker, nodding his head and clearing his throat. Castiel found himself suppressing a laugh.

“Right,” he finally managed to say, stepping up onto the sidewalk. They approached the walker, and Castiel bent down to grab onto his arrow, pressing his foot against the Undead’s face as he pulled it out of its head, the flesh audibly protesting at the friction. Castiel wiped the body fluids off of the arrow and onto the zombie’s clothes, then set it back inside his quiver. Winchester continued walking, stepping cautiously over the body and miscellaneous books and debris. Castiel observed that, much like the rest of the town, the bookstore had been raided. Various books laid scattered at his feet, some reaching the road, and Castiel treaded closer to the store’s door.

“Hey, Castiel, don’t go in there. You can’t be sure if there are any more walkers,” Winchester stated. Castiel ignored him and stepped inside the store, shifting through various volumes on the grimy, hardwood floor. He selected one, turning around as he heard Winchester approach from behind. Castiel showed it to him, wiping dust off of its hard cover.

“I have always been fond of Oscar Wilde,” he explained quietly, flipping through the stained, tattered pages of the old book. He caressed the binding before hesitantly placing it on a small table next to the door, Winchester peering at him as if in contemplation. Castiel sighed, a solemn smile crossing his lips. “There’s not enough time to enjoy things such as reading anymore.”

Winchester blinked slowly, regarding the angel with softness in his eyes. He grabbed the book off of the table, reaching around to place it in his book bag. Castiel was about to protest when the man turned back to face him, his smile gentle. “That’s when you make time, Cas.”

A warmth bloomed inside Castiel’s chest, battling the lingering caution towards the man. Alarms should have sounded in his mind with the boundaries of familiarity coming that much closer to being breached, but instead, Castiel felt a certain heaviness leave him. He felt his wings stretch and flutter behind him, silently thankful that the man could not see them. The angel glanced down at his feet before returning Winchester’s gaze.

“Thank you.”

The man nodded, his smile widening. “Come on. We’re almost to the interstate. We can pick up a decent ride there.”

Castiel followed him out of the bookstore, briefly looking back at the numerous columns, rows, and stacks of literature that may never be read again, their words, lessons, and stories forever lost to the world.

\---

Winchester stepped through the general store’s locked door, its glass broken in. Indeed, it left the building with easy access for them, but as Castiel stared skeptically inside, he was reminded that it also left it open for the Undead. Winchester waved him inside, swinging his katana loosely.

“Come on. We’ve only got a few more miles until we hit the interstate, and plenty of daylight. Let’s see if we can grab a few supplies while we’re here.”

Castiel hesitated at the entrance, his fists clenching and unclenching. “I suggest we survey the property meticulously before continuing,” he suggested. His stomach dropped as realized his slip in communication, Winchester staring at him as if he had two heads. His attempt at appearing human had become increasingly difficult recently. Even after thousands of years of practice, Castiel felt his guard slipping, allowing his true self to be seen. This time, his anxiety spread from his center across his entire chest and shoulders, inducing pain with every inhale of air.

When Winchester offered nothing in reply, Castiel rolled his eyes, the action becoming a rather frequent habit, and strode past him towards a counter along the wall of the store. “What I meant was that we should be careful before just barging in here. Like I said, no strategy.”

Winchester grunted, turning to follow behind him, and relief began to ebb the anxiety away. Castiel unsheathed a knife from his belt, gripping its handle, focus replacing the clouding effects of wariness. Human emotions were such an inconvenience.

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Castiel inquired, stopping at the counter. Winchester hopped over it, searching in and around the cash register. “I don’t think money’s of much use anymore.”

“Well, for one,” Winchester started, holding up a set of spare keys and wiggling his eyebrows. “And two, yes, it’s still important in the fact that some vending machines have plastic windows instead of glass, and it’s much easier to buy the food without making much noise.” He closed the empty register. “Not even a penny...”

“But they’re machines; what if there’s no power?”

“Some places have generators, and when they don’t, we just move on until we find more food. If we’re running low, we break them open anyways, even if it gives us unwanted attention.”

“You would risk your life for a few snacks?”

Winchester hopped back over the counter, twirling the keys around his finger. “Dude, we gotta eat. If we don’t, we’re dead anyway.” He handed Castiel a black duffle bag, and gestured to a corner of the store that held firearms. “Go and load this bag up with some guns and several packs of ammunition; whatever you can find. I’m going to head over to the clothes section.” Castiel nodded, stalking off down the tiled aisles until he reached the gun cases. There were only a few firearms left; a shotgun, a magnum identical to the one Winchester held, and a sniper rifle. He quickly stuffed the duffle bag with the guns and cases of ammunition, grabbing some extra supplies from the shelves, and slung it over his shoulder before returning to Winchester. He made his way into the men’s section of the store, where the man had opened his book bag, and was depositing packs of clothing inside it.

“Yes,” he crooned, practically hugging his bag. When Castiel raised an eyebrow at him, he frowned. “You can never have too many socks or pairs of underwear, man. This stuff is sacred now.” Castiel couldn’t help but chuckle, and Winchester’s face brightened before his attention focused on something behind the angel.

“Oh, man,” he mumbled. Castiel’s body tensed, the grip on his knife tightening.

“What is it?”

The man simply walked past him, approaching a set of mannequins dressed in well-cut suits. Castiel observed the way Winchester smoothed his hand over the fabric, a certain gleam in his eye.

“I always wanted an opportunity to wear a nice suit like this. Never got it; the closest I ever got were cheap, thrift store replicas,” the man said quietly.

“You could try one on now,” Castiel offered, stepping up behind him. Winchester turned to look at him, and shook his head.

“No, we don’t have the time to.”

Castiel couldn’t help but smile at him. “You should make time, then,” he echoed. Winchester laughed, glancing down at his feet, and Castiel felt the warmth return in his chest, his wings giving a short ruffle.

“Maybe later,” he answered after a moment, heading towards the back of the building. “Now, let’s go check the back rooms to see if we can find anything useful before we leave,” he said. He jingled the keys as he stepped, whistling a tune unknown to Castiel. When they approached one of the doors, Winchester grinned at him.

“Let’s see what’s behind door number one!” he exclaimed, his voice several octaves lower. When Castiel failed to react, the grin faded and he shook his head. “No?” Castiel stared at him, and he shrugged, sliding a key into the lock. It clicked with a turn, and Winchester smiled again. “Hey, got it on my first try. Must be my lucky day.

As he turned the handle, the door opened about an inch before stopping, something on the other side blocking it. “Aww, c’mon!” Winchester whined, using his shoulder to push the halting door with more force. He continued his efforts, but the blockade behind the door remained stationary. Castiel shivered as a surge of adrenaline shot through his veins, sensing a darkness looming over them.

“Winchester.”

“Yeah?” The man backed away from the door, preparing to kick it. As his leg shot forward, Castiel grabbed it, halting its progress. Winchester staggered on one foot, holding out his arms to keep balance. “What the hell?”

“Stop.” Castiel stared him down, hoping he would understand his caution.

“What?"

“Why do you think there’s something blocking that door?” Castiel let go of his leg, and the man brushed his hand over the gun holstered at his side.

“They were keeping something out.”

“Or in.” They simultaneously glanced at the door, then back at each other. “Time to leave.”

“Yeah.”

They bolted through the store, Castiel easily avoiding the various racks of clothing, until he heard a crash behind him. He turned to see Winchester pick himself up off the floor after tripping over one, some of the hangers tangling with his book bag.

“Shit,” he muttered. Castiel ran back towards him, grabbed his arm, and raced out through the entrance. They ran until they hit the other side of the road, Winchester reaching for his katana as he caught his breath. He blew out a huff of air, glancing back towards the store. Castiel could hear a faint, erratic thud from the inside.

“They’re going to breach that door. Soon,” he stated, walking a few feet down the littered sidewalk, surveying their surroundings.

“Of course,” Winchester grunted. “We might as well-”

“Dean!”

Within a blink of an eye, Castiel nocked and released an arrow, the spear piercing through the head of a walker behind Dean’s right shoulder. He jumped back, watching as the zombie crumpled to the ground, the arrow pushed through the back of its skull.

Their breathing filled the still air, the only sounds being the rushed inhale and exhale of oxygen, pushed and pulled by their lungs. Dean brought his eyes up from the ground to meet Castiel’s, an intensity burning there. Castiel, assuming it was the adrenaline and some sort of thanks, looked up at the apartments above their heads and back down towards the store. The thudding had increased in ferocity; the angel could hear the door within begin to break.

“The Undead are about to break through that barricade. We need to find shelter.” He grasped onto Dean’s arm, pulling him towards the stairs that led into the apartment building behind them. “Quickly.” The man followed easily, and Castiel could feel the human’s hammering heart beat through his skin. Castiel focused his energies on awareness, sensing and feeling the building around them. He avoided doors to rooms that held walkers as he led Dean through the collapsing hallways, until he found one that would be a sufficient fortress. At least, for the time being.

He pushed Dean through the door and shut it behind them, locking every bolt. He searched the room for furniture to use as a blockade, but the room held none. It had been abandoned for a long time, scorch marks covering the walls and floors from a past fire, the only light seeping in through a window on the far wall. Castiel placed the duffle bag at Dean’s feet, pulling out and examining the shotgun. Dean continued to stare at him, sweat gliding down from his forehead as he grinned.

“So, you’re calling me Dean, now, huh?” The angel frowned at him, annoyance flaring in his chest.

“Is that a thank you?” he answered, harsher than intended. Dean placed one foot forward, the fist not holding his sword clenching.

“Look, I never said I wasn’t grateful, alright?” He stated firmly, the intensity returning to his eyes. Castiel felt himself relax.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean-”

“Cas, it’s cool. Thank you.” Castiel ignored the flicker of worry in his gut at the use of the nickname as Dean looked down into the duffle bag. He sheathed his katana as he pulled out the magnum and another holster. “Hell yes, I get to dual wield now. Sons-of-bitches won’t know what hit ‘em.” Dean attached the holster in the other side of his hip, placing the unloaded gun inside it as he reached down to inspect the sniper rifle. “Man, Sammy is going to love this.”

“Who’s Sammy?” Castiel asked, one ear trained at the door of the apartment. Dean looked down at the floor before answering.

“No one; just one of the guys in my group.”

“How many are in your group?”

Before Dean could answer, a gurgling screech sounded from downstairs, echoed by moans in the walls around them; the signs of a horde forming. Castiel cursed under his breath as he approached the duffle bag, extracting shells needed for his shotgun.

“How did they get up here so fast?” Dean questioned. Castiel glanced at him before returning his focus on loading his gun.

“There were several walkers already in the building. Unfortunately, it was the only place to hide.”

“How did you know that there weren’t any in here?”

Castiel’s heart skipped a beat. “A lucky guess.” The staircase outside the door creaked with quick, pounding footsteps. He paused in loading his gun, leaning against the crumbling wall behind him.  

“I’ll deal with the horde. You need to make sure you return to your group. They’ll need you.”

The door began to rattle.

Dean stared at him incredulously, his stance straightening and tensed. “Are you kidding me?” The wooden door began shaking as the walkers beat against it, driven by the scent of human flesh. “Cas, you realize that the horde is literally breaking down the door?”

Castiel snapped his head to look at him, his teeth bared. Didn’t this human realize that he was trying to save him?

“Just in case you are so painstakingly idiotic, yes, Winchester, I am aware.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “It seems to me that you’re the idiotic one, if you think you’re going out there alone.”

A few moments passed as Castiel contemplated Dean’s offer. “Your gun’s not going to load itself, jackass.” As Dean loaded his second magnum, Castiel noticed that his leg was bleeding from falling in the store. “Are you certain you’re fit for fighting?”

Dean stood next to him, his proximity causing Castiel to feel a sudden rush of confidence, and even security. Dean smirked, the eagerness to fight evident in his green eyes. “Cas, I was fucking born ready.”

Mangled hands bursted through the door, splintering the wood as filthy blood oozed down its surface, staining the fading white paint. Dean and Castiel cocked their weapons and aimed them at the newly created hole. The angel felt his initial instincts commence, his energy wrapping itself around his body as he readied himself for battle. His ethereal wings spread wide, hovering over himself and Dean. He smirked as he saw hesitation filter through the ranks of the horde at the susceptibility of his radiating power, giving him the opportunity to shoot.

Dean, sensing the opening, fired first, the gunshot successfully blowing the brains out of one of the front walkers, splattering the ones behind it in a mist of blood. They howled, mouths foaming and eyes glazed with raw hunger, as they continued to push into the door. Castiel and Dean continued to fire, shooting them one by one, aware that the horde would not disperse until the last one was dead. Castiel observed the deteriorating state of door, also aware that if the horde broke through, they would be overtaken.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“The door.”

“I know, Cas.”

“Hold them off for a moment.” Castiel left Dean’s side to rummage through the duffle bag. He stepped towards the door a few moments later with large, liquid-filled plastic capsules in one hand, and his shotgun in the other, the duffle bag slung over his shoulder “When I say shoot, shoot.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean yelled.

“You can only cease fire for one moment, Dean, and then you have to shoot. Do you understand?” Dean nodded, and Castiel steadied his hand. “Ready? Now!”

Dean stopped shooting his magnums as Castiel tossed several capsules through the hole in the door. He then pulled out a container of lighter fluid, coating the ground in front of the cracking door. Castiel ran back to Dean, nodding, and Dean fired one shot into the horde as the door shattered.

Fire roared in front of them, blazing in a searing heat as it spread through the horde in the hallway, their screams vibrating through Castiel’s ears. He gripped Dean’s arm and led him towards the window, black smoke and the stench of burning flesh rapidly filling the apartment. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arm around Dean’s chest as he ran at the window.

“Ca-”

The word was broken off as they sailed through the window, glass shattering around them and slicing their skin. Castiel felt the rush of wind against their clustered forms as they plummeted to the roof of the adjacent building, his wings catching the draft for a few moments. He reveled in the brief exhilaration, hope surging through his veins. He huddled Dean’s form closer to him, turning so that he received most of the impact as they rolled onto the gravel roof, their bodies tangling and then rolling apart.

Castiel sat up, observing the now burning building, before approaching Dean. His healing process had already begun as the human groaned and coughed up ashes. He raised his hand in front of his face to block the sun as he stared up at Castiel, blinking rapidly.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, keeping his gaze. Dean swallowed and licked his dry lips, coughing once more.

“Yeah. Cas, that was amazing. It was like I was in a fucking action movie. And I thought I saw...”

Castiel’s heart leapt into his throat. Surely his wings hadn’t manifested during the fall. But it was possible that Dean had seen their shadow upon the rooftop.

“What did you see, Dean?”

Dean wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, wiping away sweat, soot, and blood. He shook his head once. “Nothing, man.” Castiel relaxed as he offered his hand to help Dean up, but the anxiety still swelled within him in waves. Dean accepted it, standing up and dusting off his clothes.

“Well, looks like one of my guns survived. Can’t say about the others,” he commented, picking his magnum up from the roof.

“We lost those when we jumped. But the sniper rifle made it,” Castiel replied, shrugged the duffle bag onto his shoulder. Dean nodded, glancing over the side of the building and noticed a fire escape.

“Good. Now, let’s get the hell outta here so we can finally get our asses to Dallas.”


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s hand stretched outward, pleading, as with the Son of God offering salvation. One word, a holy word, emerged from his lips, and the angel clung to it.

“Cas, get the fuck away from there!” Dean yelled, his voice hoarse from the continuous calling of Castiel’s name. Over and over. Yet Castiel did not turn. Repetition was pointless, his emotions flawed and corrupted as they stung his insides like the bile spewing from the Undead.

It didn’t have to be over. Perhaps it needed to be. But was the need pressing? Was it an absolute truth that all things had to end in a twisted, demented spiral of blood and agony?

Castiel didn’t know. When he had been abandoned to the Earth by his brothers and sisters, he thought his end would surely come swift, the madness of solitude a heavy disease to bear. To be a creation lost among creations.

He stared at his reflection within the window pane, a slow boil of anger rising in his chest. He heaved, expelling the oxygen in his lungs violently. He didn’t want to taste the pollution brought by mankind. He saw straight through the yellow eyes staring back at him through the glass; punishment. The humans were suffering for their sins, their crimes, and who was he to pity them?

They were undeserving.

Castiel strung his bow over his shoulder, instead choosing his blade. He heard Dean’s voice again, a mere ring in his ears as rage consumed his being and his visage.

Red.

He punched through the glass, send the shards scattering in several angles around him, sharp fragments glinting in the sun like fragments of damaged souls passing through the veil.

Did these beasts even harbor the souls that once resided in living flesh like he previously thought?

He jumped through the glass, running straight into the horde. They couldn’t kill him. They could damage this body, but the creation, the _divine entity_ , that resided within was something more powerful than anything they would hope to destroy.

He would destroy them. He would destroy all of them.

He sliced and cut and hacked, blood and bile and decaying flesh splattering him and covering him as he killed them, one by one, an animalistic hunger driving his actions. He was a machine. How much thought was put into his making? Surely, after thousands of years, he had been forgotten. He had never been important; not to God, nor to his brothers and sisters, nor in the scheme of humanity.

Why, then, when he saw Dean Winchester jump into the fray, fighting the horde with him, fighting to _protect_ him, did Castiel care about his survival? Not only for that day, or for a few months that followed, but for a span of years that humans like him deserved to enjoy on Earth.

Humans like him.

There. A spark. A bright light amongst the bruised haziness that covered humanity’s face. What if he was wrong about humanity? And if so, what of the Heavenly Host?

_Thy will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven._

Was there a bright light in Heaven?

Dean’s voice, a mantra amongst the chaos, grabbed his attention. The man’s hoarse throat went soft, and suddenly, there were no beasts around them. Only silence.

Dean’s hand stretched outward, pleading, as with the Son of God offering salvation. One word, a holy word, emerged from his lips, and the angel clung to it.

“Stay.”

\---

Castiel’s mind was a tempest, the aftershocks of his nightmare like tidal waves colliding within his skull, the throbbing like thunder after each lightning strike of pain. He was floating, upended between reality and dreamscape, and unable to focus on even the simplest sounds of the night around him.

At least, he believed it was night. His vision was blurred, the shadows of warm and cool shapes the only thing registering through the thick fog of his slow-waking consciousness.

Dean’s voice tried to push its way through, but Castiel’s mind could barely grasp it. It was still tumbling endlessly through his nightmare, almost as if he was forced to watch reruns while the world burned around him. He was drifting through the smoke, the emotions from his dream still very real as they boiled through his grace.

His grace. Was that the mounting, seething fire in the center of his being? He hadn’t felt it in so long. He focused on it, the flashing replays of his nightmare fading as he clung to the faint light. A faint light that had grown, _expanded_ , nesting its roots in his bones and muscle. Castiel felt his ethereal wings rustle, hoping at manifestation, and his breath became short. He felt the new, raw power surge once, twice, before subsiding into a steady beat in his chest.

The smoke was gone, but he was still drifting, lost inside himself at the new revelation. Then, he felt anchored. A gentle, soothing warmth, and he slowly floated back down to reality. He opened his eyes, the shapes no longer shadowed.

“Hey.” A whisper, carrying concern. Dean’s hands were resting on Castiel’s forearms, his calloused fingertips pushing lightly into his skin. His anchor.

Cas lifted his head, his eyes colliding with the sharp hue of green. He felt grounded, sturdy, and only then did he realize he had been shaking as his limbs began to relax.

“Why are you here, Dean?”

The human seemed surprised, his fingers pressing harder into his forearms.

“What do you mean? I’ve been here all night.”

Cas huffed, slowly arching his back to stretch the cramped muscles. He started, his eyes traveling down his sitting position, before looking back to Dean.

“I am sorry.”

Dean seemed to shake it off, his shoulders rolling as he looked down to his feet. A spark of anger bounced inside Cas’ gut, and he frowned.

“Do not make it to seem like a casual mistake. It could have costed our lives.”

“Dude. It isn’t the first time someone’s fallen asleep on guard duty. Yeah, it was dangerous, but we’re pretty welled up here. I would have heard them coming down the tunnels.”

Cas attempted to pull back into his human facade, but the anger beating up through his torso broke through his efforts.

“I do not appreciate your indifference to the situation. I allowed weariness to impede my duties. It could have had grave consequences.”

Dean stared at him, confusion twitching into frowned lines between his eyebrows. “This isn’t the fucking army. I’m not going to have you shot, Cas. Yeah, you screwed up. But you’re obviously upset about it, so-”

“Dean, you should be angrier with me.”

“Why? What would that solve?”

“Because I went against orders.” Cas’ chest was tight. “I disobeyed.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Hey.”

Castiel’s eyes were frantic as they skittered over the grimy ceiling above him. Dean’s hands tightened on his arms, but he didn’t return his gaze. He felt the cold night air nip at his skin as one of Dean’s hands left, before Cas felt the same rough fingertips on his jaw.

Dean tilted his head down so he would face him. Castiel felt warmth wash over the rising panic in his chest. Castiel had disobeyed before. Disobeyed Heaven. They cast him out with abandoned indifference. He would have prefered divine wrath, because it was an action of power and emotion, that carried _meaning_.

But instead of anger, Dean’s gestures were motivated by another unknown force. Castiel shivered as Dean rubbed his thumb along the edge of his jawline before dropping his hand entirely.

“Stay with me, Cas.”

Images of his dream flashed before him. He inhaled, his own grip tightening as he held onto the warmth of Dean’s presence.

“You could have died.”

Dean didn’t respond immediately. The confused concern slowly transformed into smooth lines as a quick upturn of lips indicated a smirk.

“I can hold my own.” He moved, his hands leaving the angel, the chill from the subway slowly replacing the warmth. Castiel wanted to protest, to grab Dean and press him close, to feel the security that came with his touch.

Castiel breathed slowly, not bothering to count the minutes as they passed. Dean simply watched him, and Castiel quickly realized, with a swelling sense of embarrassment, how out of place his outburst was. Old emotions triggered by a single nightmare. Before, angels never even slept.

He wasn’t sure if he was considered an angel anymore.

Cas shifted, his jeans rustling and twisting the makeshift bed that was his trenchcoat. He rubbed a hand along his left arm before giving Dean a disdainful look.

“So can I.”

Dean smirked and patted his knee, before turning to lean against the tunnel wall. Cas’ stomach churned as he stared at the human, wondering silently at how his presence alone affected him. With a quiet exhale of air, he realized that some personal boundaries had already been crossed.

“I have no doubt about that. But it’s good to know you have someone to watch your back.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed. “And do you have my back, Dean?”

Dean looked to him then, his expression thoughtful. “I think saving a guy from a horde of flesh-craving sons-of-bitches entitles him to some kind of back up, don’t you?”

Cas allowed the question to linger in the air between them as he formulated a response. “I suppose you’re right. Besides, you won’t have to watch mine for long.”

Dean’s face noticeably sagged before becoming stoic. “Yeah.”

Cas looked down at his coat and picked at the sleeve. He didn’t need to rest, yet he felt exhaustion creep into his limbs, urging him to lay down and close his eyes to the world around him. He heard Dean shift by the wall, but his remained fixed on his coat sleeve, wariness causing him to lose focus.

“Cas, if you’re still tired, you can sleep. I’ve got this shift.”

Cas didn’t look up at him, frowning as his fingers curled into the faded fabric. He could feel the cold floor of the subway station seep up through the coat. He suddenly wished for a soft bed.

“If we were able to commandeer a vehicle from the highway earlier, we could both be resting somewhere safer.”

Dean’s short laugh caused the angel to raise his head. “What are you, a pirate? What’s with the vocabulary?”

Cas held his gaze, seeing no other point in keeping his facade in relation to his speech. He had already, carelessly, slipped his tongue in front of this man.

“You seem to be observant enough to realize that I am not from here. My speech is...different that what is deemed casual in American society.”

Dean had a look on his face that Castiel couldn’t read. “Uh huh. Yeah, I guessed that. Did you time travel?”

Cas knew it was a joke, and that time travel was thought of as impossible to humanity, but once, he was able to. Able to explore each facet of human culture and travel back to see exactly how certain events helped develop future ones. He ruffled his wings unhappily, restless.

“That would make for an interesting existence.”

Dean smirked. “You’re tellin’ me. So...where you from?”

Cas smiled sadly. “Somewhere...quite far from here. I don’t think I’ll ever return.”

“Why? What about family?”

Cas clenched his fingers. “What about them?”

“I don’t know...do you have any left? Are they still living where you’re from? Did they get left behind in this shitstorm of an apocalypse?”

“They left me behind.”

Silence. The slow drip of water in the corner behind Castiel seemed to echo inside the tunnel as despair clutched deep and sharp within his grace.

“I can never return because they would not allow it.”

Dean seemed frozen, his fists clenched against his thighs. “They cast you out? For what?”

Cas merely shook his head, his eyes falling to his hands in his lap. Dean stood up and stepped towards him, pulling out a silver flask from his jacket before sitting down to Castiel’s left.

“Here. It’s the good stuff.”

Castiel tentatively reached for the flask, his fingers resting on the back of Dean’s hand momentarily before bringing the flask to his lips. He sipped at it, the liquor burning down his throat. It chased some of the chill away.

“Thank you,” he said, handing the flask back. Dean sipped at it himself before placing it back inside his jacket.

“There’s more where that came from.”

“At your camp?”

“Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat. “You know how I was talking about them earlier? About Sam?”

“Yes.”

“Well, see...Sam’s my brother. I’m trying to look out for him.” Castiel turned to watch Dean’s face. Dean’s eyelashes bat a few times before resting on the tops of his freckled cheeks. “But it’s hard when every goddamn corner has a monster waiting to rip your throat out.” He opened his eyes to stare at the floor. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to him.”

Castiel remained quiet, unsure on how they arrived at sharing personal accounts of their families. But he allowed Dean to continue, his hands folded in his lap.

“You know, Cas...” A brief smile crossed Dean’s features as he huffed a laugh. “If we make it to my camp in one piece, maybe...” Dean turned to face Cas, his eyes alight. “Maybe you could stay? What we got there...it’s good. It’s as close to family as we’ll get in this hellhole.”

There was that word again. _Stay_. So permanent. Something that should be restricting, yet the way Dean’s voice carried it...

A promise. A promise for something better than this destitute existence. Castiel refused to recognize that what fluttered inside his chest was hope.

“I will...consider it.”

Dean’s face lifted, a broader smile tugging at his chapped lips. “Good.” Neither commented on how their bodies seemed to have leaned closer to each other. After a moment, Dean looked down at Cas’ trenchcoat.

“Yeah, finding a car to sleep in would have been better.”

Castiel huffed. “You think?”

“Alright, smartass, let’s see you find a decent place to camp out in a friggin’ subway.”

“That’s exactly the point, Dean. These tunnels are dangerous. Most of them are unlit and still have corpses for the Undead to feast on. It was unwise to even venture down here.”

“Hey, you came with.”

“I didn’t really have a choice.”

“Better to slip in here than to go banging down doors not knowing what’s waiting inside.”

“You have a point.”

“Ha.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s acceptable, as long as we leave this place at dawn.”

“What, no sleeping in?”

Cas gave Dean a despairing look. “If we want to make it out of here alive and utilize the maximum amount of daylight, no.”

“It was a joke. And why don’t we use the tunnels to get downtown?”

“Clearly you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said.”

“It’d be faster.”

Castiel contemplated it, turning his shoulders to face Dean. “The risks far outweigh the benefits in this circumstance. I think we should stick to a morning departure.”

Dean nodded. “Alright. Sounds like a plan.” He stood up suddenly, brushing off his jeans with his hands. “I gotta take a leak, so if you’ll just stay awake long enough to-”

_“Castiel.”_

Cas looked up at Dean, frowning. “What?”

Dean raised an eyebrow and pointed his thumb towards a pile of debris a few yards behind him. “I just said I gotta take care of some business. I’ll be right back.”

Castiel nodded. That was obviously what Dean had said, but then...who called his name? He glanced around, unable to see much past the barrier made of car parts, structural metal, and crumbled cement. He stood up, peeking over the barrier to look down along the railways, the stained metal stretching down into shadow the further the tunnel went.

_“Castiel.”_

The voice came as a clear whisper through the dark, enticing and strong. Castiel’s hand went to the blade at his hip, peering down the tunnel. He could not answer the voice. What if Dean heard? What if he were truly going mad, and Dean decided to turn on his word and take him out, claiming he was a liability?

There was another hand at play here; the voice flowed with familiarity and calm. Castiel did not feel the need to defend, but rather felt the impulse to join the voice in the darkness. He looked towards the direction Dean headed in, then quickly climbed over the barrier and hopped down onto the tracks below. He stared into the otherwise intimidating passageway, unafraid as he began to step closer.

A flash of reddish-gold swept across the dark, and Castiel tensed, an unexplained excitement bubbling at his core. He stepped forward, and the color flashed again. The angel cracked his fingers in anticipation, his wings rustling and tucked tight against his back.

He dared to move forward, farther into the shadow, until the dim light of the tunnel was a few feet behind him. The color appeared once again, but instead of vanishing, it stayed, a floating drop of paint on a black canvas.

“What are you? How do you know me?” Castiel’s voice was rough, his throat dry with a sudden wave of thirst. Strange. He never had the need before.

_“I am that I am.”_

Castiel felt his lips begin to tremble and he balled his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

“F-father?”

A quick chirp responded, and he would have sworn it was a laugh.

_“Flattering, but no. You’re in the ballpark, though.”_

Castiel glanced around. “I’m inside a subway tunnel.”

The golden light sighed. _“You always were the literal one. I wasted some of my best jokes on you.”_

Castiel took another step forward, the strange orb floating directly in front of his face. “Gabriel, there is no time for jokes. You never answered my questions.”

_“I’m not obligated to.”_

“You called me out here, so-”

_“And you came! Obedient, as ever.”_

Castiel started, his insides turning at the mocking tone. “Have you been watching me?”

Another quick laugh filled the musty air between them. _“For longer than you know.”_

Castiel moved to swing at the orb, his jaw tight and his muscles taut. The orb easily floated out of reach. He nearly growled, choosing to stretch out his ethereal wings. Maybe if he could muster enough grace in order to-

“Cas? _Cas_!”

Castiel’s eyes ripped from the orb to the edge of the tunnel, his heart beating hard against his ribcage.

“Cas, where are you?”

_“Well, that’s my cue!”_

“Wait!” He called, holding up his hand. “Please, just tell me why you’re here?”

“Cas, is that you?” Quick, heavy footsteps echoed against the concrete walls.

_“Sorry, you used up all your questions.”_

“But you didn’t even answer them!”

“Cas, you son-of-a-bitch, why are y-”

Castiel fought against Dean’s grip, staring out into the now empty darkness, his heart still pounding. He felt dizzy, the ground beneath him tilting as he tried to process too many emotions in such a short amount of time. Angels were not programmed this way. He wasn’t even supposed to feel, but here he was, shaking at the crippling input of emotions, their actions and reactions. He felt a loss at the center of his being, and he could barely keep himself from falling over.

His anchor once again grappled him and pulled him to safety, the warmth of strong arms nearly too much as the encircled him. He dipped his face into Dean’s shoulder, his fingers grasping tightly to his leather jacket. He inhaled, trying to rid himself of tremors rattling up his spine. Dean rubbed his hand down along his back, whispering comforts into his ear, and Castiel melted completely into him, absorbing anything to rid the chaos brewing within.

“Hey. Cas, hey...”

Castiel needed to move, to put space between him and this newly met stranger, but he couldn’t find the motivation as Dean continued to soothe him. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Just tell me what happened. Why are you down here?”

Castiel hesitated. A few seconds ticked by. “I...I thought I saw something.”

“You’re lucky those ugly bastards out there didn’t see you. Come on.”

Dean lead him back to their makeshift camp, stepping carefully back up the stairs so as not to lose footing. His strong arms helped Cas over the barrier once they were a level above the tracks, but Castiel blacked out before Dean could place him on top of his trenchcoat.

****

\---

“I must apologize for last night. You must think me...strange.”

“Hell, I think everything’s strange these days.”

Cas glanced sideways, noticing how the sunlight bent and reflected off of Dean’s hair. “I’m not sure what happened. I can think of no reason as to why I had that...episode after my nightmare.”

“Or the seeing ghosts thing?”

Dean sounded amused, which only further confused Castiel. “It wasn’t a ghost...perhaps a hallucination.”

“It’s exhaustion, man. It’s this world. I’ve seen it a few times myself. People snapping, going awol, drawing cryptic messages on walls. The whole nine yards.”

Castiel didn’t comment. Did Dean think he was as crazy as the others he had encountered?

“People see death all around them,” he continued. “If the zombies themselves aren’t enough, they get to witness their loved ones and friends go out bloody and screaming. It changes them. Sometimes they get over it, with maybe a few episodes in between. But some...they just can’t cope.”

Dean’s voice broke as he finished speaking. Castiel looked to him, but he was staring beyond the stretch of highway in front of them, lost in thought. Cas didn’t ask the question that pushed against his tongue.

They walked on in silence, the heat a constant force driving them on. Dean would need more water soon, and they couldn’t risk dehydration as the Texan sun inched across the sky. A few complaints mumbled past Dean’s lips on occasion, but Castiel preferred the heat to the creeping cold that settled when night came. Over his span of living on Earth, the angel frequented more mild climates, never being able to withstand wintry mountains for any long period of time.

He glanced up at the sun and marked it. It was roughly eight o’clock in the morning, leaving them plenty of daylight to make it to the movie theatre as the downtown district loomed ahead, its giant shadows hiding secrets of the lives that once walked its streets. They maneuvered around the deserted cars, the only sound being the litter kicked about by their feet as they walked.

The breeze between the buildings reminded Castiel of the weak, final breath before death.

“This is unsettling,” he commented, breaking the eery silence.

“This city used to thrive. I mean, it was just...alive. You could feel it in your blood.”

“And now it’s suffered a fate worse than death.”

Dean turned to stare at him, but Castiel did not meet his eyes. “What?”

Castiel answered with a heavy sadness. “Abandonment.” When he quickened his pace, Dean stayed behind him.

They walked a few blocks before Castiel picked up the conversation. “Did you used to live here?”

Dean came up beside him as they stepped onto a sidewalk to avoid pile of deteriorating cars in the middle of the road. “Yeah, I moved out here with Sam a few years ago. Kinda miss the city life.”

“Where are you from originally?”

“Lawrence, Kansas. Even for a town near a big city, it was boring as hell. I had been there so long...I had to get out. More to see, more to do, you know?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”

Dean rolled his shoulders as he adjusted the duffle bag. “I was tired of the snow, too.”

Castiel laughed quietly, causing Dean to turn his head. “I am completely aware of that feeling.”

Dean’s hand was suddenly on his chest, and Castiel looked to him before his eyes traveled to the end of the street. There, in front of a run down movie house, were several walkers stumbling along the sidewalk. Dean retreated a few steps, signaling Cas to turn around. Cas followed Dean back around the block, only glancing behind them once to see the theatre’s sign spark and flicker.

“That was where your camp was stationed?”

Dean nodded, pointing at a lone walker in the street. Cas withdrew an arrow from his quiver, slinging it in his bow. He aimed and released the arrow, the pierced tip splitting through the walker’s skull with a sickening thunk.

“Yeah, and there shouldn’t be that many walkers around its perimeter,” Dean finally spoke, reaching for something inside his jacket.

“Dean, this isn’t really a time for drinking.”

Dean deadpanned and held out a small radio with a long antenna.

“Oh.”

He turned a knob and the radio beeped once. Dean held it in front of his mouth, the device hovering before his hesitant lips.

“Sammy, you there?”

Seconds ticked by.

“Sam, can you hear me? Pick up.”

Castiel noticed Dean worrying his bottom lip, his eyes blinking rapidly as he held down the button on the radio once more.

“Damn it, Sam! I need you to-”

“Dean?”

Dean huffed and shifted his weight on his other leg. “Sam! Where the hell are you?”

“Me? Where the hell are _you_? I’ve been waiting on contact for a few days now.”

Sam’s voice was softer than Dean’s, even through the static of the radio transmission. He sounded young, but not very much younger than his brother.

“Yeah, about that. Ran into another survivor. I was bringing him to the camp when, to my surprise, I found friggin’ walkers taking their Sunday strolls in front of it.”

“Wait, you’re downtown? And who’s this survivor?”

“Nevermind him, we can discuss that later. The fact that we’re hiding a block from camp is what we need to be talking about now.”

A faint laugh came through the speaker. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, Dean, but we moved on from the theatre.”

Cas frowned at Dean, and he licked his lips, his shoulders squared and tense. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“Wish I were. Seems we’re both temporary foster parents.”

Dean’s eyebrows twitched up. “Who’s the newcomer?”

Castiel pieced their conversation together and stepped forward, eyeing the radio in Dean’s hand. “Dean, I’m not a child.” Dean waved his hand dismissively.

“A girl we found looting around in a liquor store.”

“When you say girl...”

“She’s my age, Dean.”

“Ah. She cute?”

Sam groaned. “Really, Dean? That’s all you’re thinking about?”

Dean glanced at Cas. “Alright, so, did Bobby do his Scharff routine?”

“Yep, and she seems to check out. Jody’s been keeping an eye on her.”

“Good. So where the hell are you guys now?”

“Well, she said she knew of a house that used to be owned by her friend out on White Rock Lake. We’re here now. It’s...actually really nice, Dean.”

Dean paced on the sidewalk, his hand coming up to rub his face. “You followed her to a place you weren’t sure was even safe? What if there had been walkers?”

“Then we would have handled them. Besides, most of the suburbs are cleared out. The walkers have tended to be in the city more.”

Dean looked at Cas and rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I know. So where is this place?”

“If you can make it to Abrams Road, you can follow that before heading east. The house is near Cox cemetery.”

“Yep, I know where that is. We’ll be there soon.”

“Oh, and Dean, there’s been increased activity around Ridgewood Park, so keep an eye out.”

“I thought you said the suburbs were mostly clear?”

“I did. I didn’t say anything about the parks.”

“Sammy, there are several parks all along those neighborhoods.”

Castiel touched Dean’s arm gently. “Dean. I can hear walkers around the corner.”

“Alright, we gotta split, Sam. Seems your big mouth tends to attract the bastards.”

Before Sam could respond, Dean turned the knob, switching the radio off. He stuffed it back inside his jacket, patting it before unsheathing his katana from his back.

“You ready to go, Robin Hood?”

Cas nocked another arrow in his bow and nodded, turning to keep up with Dean as they hurried down the sidewalk, the concrete beneath their feet slowly becoming consumed with the overgrowth of weeds. He didn't know where this path would take him, walking side by side with Dean Winchester, but that spark of humanity he had seen in the man fueled him, his feet beating the pavement. Whatever past sins, whatever grand delusions he had sought in his years on Earth, Castiel at once absolved to bury them. Whether his Father was watching or not, Castiel would face the end with this man by his side. Despite not being able to fly, he would continue to fight. Hope had not completely vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
